Facebook page created- thanks readers; Shiro plum-basil jam

Alrighty roo, thank you to all the readers who wrote with suggestions regarding my Em-i-lis Facebook page name. As it turns out, FB (like Twitter), accepts underscores, so I went with Em_i_lis which is similar to my Twitter handle, @em_i_lis. And so, if you are on FB and would like to go "like" (yes, please) my new page, you may access it here: Em-i-lis Facebook page. Oliver and I just had a ball making jam and a video together. He's a great help in the kitch, and I hope to post the video soon! Preview:

Oliver: "IT'S JAM TIME!!!"

Don't pee in my bed! That's your what???

Oliver insisted on sleeping in a swim diaper last night, and I wondered if it would hold. At 6:10 this morning, he moved into bed with us, snuggled a bit and then said, "Mommy, what is this?" He patted the bed, and I said, "Oliver are you joking? It's the bed." "No, Mommy, this." I should have paid more attention to the mischievous smile curling the corners of his mouth.

Yep, you see where I'm headed: two large circles of tee-tee had migrated from his sopping diaper into our sheets and mattress (naturally this also means I'll be changing his bed today, in addition to mine; and a +2 for the to-do list).

"Oliver, it just stinks. Yuk."

"I think it smells awesome, like burned up hotdogs with ketchup on them."

All I could do was laugh, a sincere chortle tinged with a slight bit of resignation. Jack joined us in bed, mayhem ensued, Oliver unearthed a plastic bag of golf tees and balls from under our bed, tore the bag into small pieces which he tossed over us like faux snow, and all our pillows and sheets ended up on the floor. After an hour of increasing lunacy, T locked the boys out of the room at which point they started picking the lock with about 87 tees. We gave up, went downstairs and made a beeline to the coffee maker.

At this point, you might think, surely these parents will get a reprieve. Not so fast! On our counter I spied a Safety First rectal thermometer; you know, one of those made for babies. A vague sense of alarm entered my psyche as I asked someone to tell me why it was so casually in our kitchen.

Oliver: "Oh, that's my blaster!!"

Tom: "He's been playing with it for days."

Me: "Uh, that's been in his butt! Jack's too!"

Tom: "Oh, right!"

Oliver: "Hahahahahahahaha, I love my blaster, has it really been in my butt? Jack, it's been in my butt. It's been in your butt too!!! Hahahahaha."

Happy Monday all.

Re-entry

Last night, after leaving BlogHer '13, I headed back to DD and D's house for a quiet evening with them. Donna, author of the wonderful books, Landscape and Waiting for Bones (you should definitely buy and read both!!), had prepped all the fixings for Salads Niçoise, and Dirk, rabbit catcher, antique map seller, and many more (all very interesting), had ready two lovely bottles of wine. We had a spontaneous plating contest, and Donna won handily. It was all so very lovely; a leisurely night of thoughtful, good conversation with old friends just can't be beat.

Fast forward through the flight home today, and I was greeted at the airport by my sweet husband, eager and darling Jack, and a sleeping Ol. The boys had picked a huge bowl of tomatoes from our deck-based plants and what they didn't eat, they brought to me in this bowl. In addition to the attached note, I received three others plus a chopstick wand. Apparently, Oliver is now Hermione Granger, Jack is Harry Potter, and I am a sidekick. I love that Oliver only chooses to "be" and love women who are smart and strong. Hermione is an excellent addition to the Wonder Woman/Padmé Amidala/Princess Leia train.

The change in pace was expected but nonetheless a tad jarring. Man, do those little boys remind me of the Looney Toons Tasmanian Devil. There was nakedness, jumping, spell after spell, turning the easel into a three-dimensional robot, eating, more eating, spilling, attempts to core apples with large knives, and unceasing talking. We went to the market, finished the wine country puzzle, ate two dinners...And then I spied this:

"Boys, what is in Percy's crate?"

"Toilet paper, Mom, lots of it."

In an rabid desire to free the cardboard tubes from inside many rolls of toilet paper, they had unrolled the paper, shoved it (plus, apparently a number of other random objects like a Ziploc of corks, some discarded works of art) all into Percy's crate and then Duck-taped the rolls into "label makers." Don't ask, I don't know. Just after this episode, Tom asked for some toilet paper and, wait for it, there was no more in the house. Add that to the "I'm glad I wasn't here" list.

They are so precious though, and I loved snuggling with each, hearing their little voices, laughing at all their silliness. It was so incredibly good to get away, spend days straight with adults, operate on my own schedule, have uninterrupted time to consider what I'm doing and where I want to head. But it was also good to get home to my war-zone of a house, markers littering the floors, and more pieces of paper than you could possibly imagine with the word "butt" written on them.

Tom grilled salmon while I made our sides: tomatoes with young chevre and super-aged Balsamic; kale with cannellini, onion, herbs and shaved parmesan a la Deborah Madison. We sat on the deck enjoying a lovely night, and I started to settle back in.